


Dark side of the sun

by Kay_N_K8



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:34:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25464799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kay_N_K8/pseuds/Kay_N_K8
Summary: A story of growing up, values changing and price of glory.
Relationships: Hvitserk (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s), Ivar (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	Dark side of the sun

The little baby woke up from a loud laughter. Something strange was happening in their house this afternoon. Never had she heard so many men’s voices here. She climbed down her bed and unsteadily flopped her small feet against the cool wooden floor towards the light linen curtain which separated their kitchen and the main hall from their bed places.  
  
She heard her mother clattering crockery and the thick sweetish smell of roasted meat filled her nostrils.  
  
‘Get the best Ale, Ingrid, the king himself has granted us with his presence’, one of the voices snarled mockingly.  
  
‘Shut that mouth, Helgi’, returned another laughingly.  
  
The voices belonged to the shadows stirring behind the curtain. Each time a voice sounded louder, the girl shuddered in a fright. However, overwhelmed by curiosity, she came closer and slightly moved the fabric aside. There were men sitting around the table, drinking and hitting their cups so hard that half of the contained was spilling on the table, on their clothes, streaming down and glistening in their beards when they made gulps. She had no clue how many of them there were in the room. She was too little to take interest in counting. She was just watching them with her huge curious eyes, half of her little face hid behind the curtain.  
  
The boy almost of her brother’s age was slouching lazily on the chair, rocking one of his legs to and fro and carelessly playing with a small knife. The light coming from the flames in the hearth in the middle of the hall reflected on his fair, straw-colored hair and it glittered with each movement of his head.  
  
The man with a long thick braid put the cup to his lips, but at that very moment his eyes shifted to the end of the room noticing a small figure hiding behind the curtain and watching them closely.  
  
‘What a creature we are having here’, he exclaimed, his features softening instantly. Everyone at the table immediately turned their heads towards the girl.  
  
Suddenly she felt like a prey in front of the predators as the pairs of piercing eyes stared in her direction. Tensed, she frowned suspiciously and clenched onto the curtain, stepping back, ready to hide from the strangers.  
  
‘Come’, he leaned forward and beckoned her with his huge hand but that only made her flinch back with a wild look.  
  
‘What kind of father are you that your own daughter cannot recognize you?’ Smiled the man, whose head was almost bald and at both sides covered with tattoos that reached down to his temples.  
  
Graciously her mother rose up from her chair, and walked towards her daughter. Unfolding her arms she let Laufey onto them and the girl’s golden curls pressed tightly against Ingrid’s chest.  
  
The presents of the strangers still disturbed the girl, but in her mother’s arms she felt safe.  
  
Helgi thankfully glanced at his wife and the child.  
  
‘There’re moments when I wish I’d never gone away…You’re right, Ragnar’, he signed heavily, taking his friend’s words too serious. Indeed, what kind of father am I? Missed my daughter’s birth…’ he shook his head disappointedly, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Lack of strength to fight that of the alcohol made him go emotional.  
  
‘That malicious Loki has been pouring needless guilt in your cup and you’ve been drinking it’, Ingrid frowned. ‘You’re back and you’re alive. That makes you great for all of us’  
  
She looked down at the baby, settled cozily on her chest, and gently kissed her golden curls.  
  
‘I hope you will not miss her growing up’, Ingrid said softly. More to the other men, than to her husband, because having been back just for hours, the words of the soon-to-be raids flashed in their talks. It was not their first viking, the last was even the shortest: just over two years. Each one, Ingrid thought, would be easier to bear, she thought she would manage to get used to her husband’s absence. But it turned out that each time standing there at the harbor, her heart was breaking. Splitting in two, one half going there with her husband to those distant lands.  
  
Ingrid loved Ragnar for making things work differently than when it was with their previous earl and with his eagerness to prove something, with his pointless allies and endless fights for nothing right there, on their land. Some called Ragnar a usurper behind his back, but coming from commons, he could see the misery those devastating wars brought to people. He knew what was right for Kattegat, for Denmark. He knew too well that slaughtering their people wouldn’t help to grow crops, that blood split would not warm the hardened soil, frozen to the core, not matter how much of it is shed. He dreamed of exploring, different lands, different countries, dreamed of starting a new settlement. He also wanted to prove. To prove that there’s still a hope for their people, to unite, to be as one, not against each other. And she respected him for that. And she was proud he was such a good friend of her husband. But for that she hated him. Hated him for needing Helgi so much by his side, for taking him away from her. For each goodbye that felt fatal.  
  
‘This is your dad, love’, She carried Laufey closer to Helgi but the girl turned her head away quickly and buried her face in the folds of her mother’s dress.  
  
However, after some time Laufey started thinking that maybe they were not as dangerous as she had thought of them and after some minutes more she was already laughing happily, sitting at her father’s lap, hiding and covering her small face as Ragnar’s fingers were tickling her nose and cheeks.  
  
‘Gimme drink’, reddened from the laughter, she stretched her hand for the nearest cup.  
  
‘O-ho-ho, that’s a bit strong for you, ringlets’, Ragnar laughed kindly, moving the cup out of her reach.  
  
All the rest chuckled softly at the little display. Ivar sneered, too, and his blue eyes glanced at her with that superior look older children give youngest. He was only six, though, sometimes had Ragnar’s permission to secretly try some ale while Aslaug wasn’t watching. In his mind, it made him closer to the adults and allowed him to laugh at Laufey’s childish ignorance.  
  
‘You have your own warriors growing up, Ragnar’, the black-haired man they were calling Rollo, pointed at the boy sitting opposite him at the table.  
  
The boy jerked his head up proudly.  
  
‘Have you started your training, Ivar?’  
  
‘Yes, archery’, he winced disappointedly, as if he was admitting cleaning the stables.  
  
‘Why long face, boy?’ Helgi curiously raised his brow, fighting to suppress a smile.  
  
‘They call it archery, but all we do is keeping our hands in front of us until it hurts’, he complained. ‘Erik says I can start practicing sword fighting when I’m ten, he added more cheerfully.  
The men laughed indulgently.  
  
‘So all of us were doing, too’, Rollo nodded his head and looked at him cunningly, taking a gulp from his cup.  
  
‘What for? This is boring and not useful at all’, Ivar wouldn’t give up.  
  
‘Not useful, huh?’ Ragnar smiled widely and stood up. He came to the wall behind his chair and grabbed his sword and shield.  
  
‘Come’, he called Ivar to where he stood. The boy approached him, unaware of where his father’s idea was leading to.  
  
‘Now take the sword, no-no, don’t lower it’, he pulled the boy’s hand up because his arm was involuntarily forced down by the weight of the weapon. ‘Your enemies are not going to crawl for you to cut them. Raise it up! Raise your sword, Ivar!’ Ragnar commanded, for a second there was a demanding konung, a severe king in the room, not a father and a friend.  
  
Ragnar was obviously cheating because that was not the weight to lift for a boy of six, but Ivar didn’t seem to catch the trick.  
  
‘Do you understand now how necessary it is to train your arms first before rushing into the battle, not sure if you can use your sword or even lift it? The same with your bow, it can be light, but a fight may last for days. The thing may seem made of iron afterwards’ Ragnar leaned down, placing his hand around Ivar’s shoulders.  
  
The boy nodded stubbornly, still fighting to balance the sword with his both hands already.  
  
‘So far so good’, Ragnar messed up his hair and sat back in his chair again.  
  
‘I shall stay with my arms up for hours then, they will be the stronger than all of yours!’ he exclaimed determinately, raising his head high.  
  
‘That boy will go places, mark my words, Ragnar’, Helgi said approvingly.  
  
‘Might I try the shield?’ The boy asked his father.  
  
Rangar smiled and winked at his son, giving his permission.  
  
Ivar carefully raised the shield which turned out a little lighter, and that meant a little less time spending with his arms in the air, but the boy still preferred the sword. The blade of it was covered with dry blood and runes Ivar couldn’t read, but he was sure they enchanted the weapon to wreak death and horror on enemies. He imagined what it might sound like in battle, when metal met metal. For sure not even close to that sound of wooden blunt-edged swords older boys were training with.  
  
He imagined what it was like to fight in a shield wall when you had to use both of your shield and a weapon at the same time, so he grabbed the hilt of the sword, too. Keeping them down on the ground, the shield bigger than the boy, he was standing proudly there, chest puffed, like a little warrior. He felt the excitement, as if anticipating the battle. The room was a battlefield and the rags and trunks placed around the table were the hills the enemy was about to appear from.  
  
But it was not his enemy who walked out from behind the hills, but Laufey.  
  
‘This is Ivar’, her mother said in a clear voice, emphasizing the boy’s name. ‘Say, hello, Ivar!’  
  
‘Hello, Imaaa!’ She imitated reflexively, not raising her head.  
  
Carefully watching her feet, trying not to stumble, she made her way to the boy.  
  
Her tiny voice caused another wave of laughter.  
  
‘It’s Ivar! Say, Ee-vaar’, the boyish voice rang demanding across the room.  
  
‘Ee-mar’, she repeated as she came closer.  
  
Her small curious hand touched the wood and she suddenly flinched back as the boy lightly messed up her golden curls, a bit flatten at the right side from her sleep.  
Ragnar rummaged in one of the closest rags and took out a doll, made of bright colorful cloth and buttons in the place of eyes and nose.  
  
‘Hey, ringlets’, he shook the toy in front of her.  
  
But she passed him by, not noticing the doll, and moved forward attracted by the brightly painted shield Ivar was holding.  
  
The men roared with laughter again.  
  
‘That’s my girl’, her father exclaimed proudly.  
  
‘Future shield maiden’, Rollo roared joyfully.  
  
A boyish figure, carrying a small pole and a net bag full of fish, appeared in the doorway. He was taken aback suddenly seeing all the guests in their house.  
  
‘Father!’ the boy’s eyes glistened in a surprise. He rushed to Helgi, carelessly dropping the bag on the floor as he ran, making the fish frantically flop their fins and tails.  
  
‘Leif, oh, look at you, a grown-up man now, a fish winner’, Helgi laughed, embracing the boy.  
  
They went on feasting, and Ivar and Leif who had already made friends, since for kids it’s much more easier to do, never left the place where weapon was standing. While the adults were drinking and paying no attention, they took that as a permission to play with it.  
  
They both have decided that they would be warriors, but the third member of their company messed up all their plans.  
  
‘She will be our princess, her name will be Ringlets!’ Ivar announced, Leif agreed. Laufey agreed, too, never understanding what she was agreeing with.  
  
They told her to sit and watch them fight. But she was of that age when she makes rules herself, not follows them. She didn’t want to sit at the bench, she wanted the shield. That beautiful wooden thing, which was enormously big and painted in bright colors.  
  
‘No, you can’t touch it! Princesses don’t fight! They wait till they are rescued!’ Leif shouted at the girl who jumped from the bench and tried to grab the weapons. Ivar lifted her easily and placed her back at the bench.  
  
Laufey, not getting what she wanted, immediately filled with tears and started crying.  
  
‘No, I want that!’ she cried at the boys.  
  
‘Shame on you, two almost grown up men and offending a girl!’ Rangar scowled at them.  
  
‘We didn’t offend her! We told her to sit! She might play later!’ his son objected. ‘She’s only bothering us and won’t listen!’ he scowled looking at Laufey.  
  
‘Be careful, boy. You might want to take her as your wife one day, Ivar’, Rollo smirked, nodding. ‘But she will remember how you treated her. Women do remember everything’, he added more seriously.  
  
Ivar looked at her queerly as if trying to understand what he should expect of a girl who was not even able to walk properly, and was standing now weeping and sobbing.  
  
‘She can’t be my wife! She is a child!’  
  
‘But she will grow up’.  
  
Ivar looked at Laufey again.  
  
‘Leif and I are not going to marry any woman, We’re going to become great warriors!’  
  
‘Who are you going to marry then? Each other?’  
  
The men laughed again, harder, even Laufey’s mother slightly curved her lips.  
  
‘Boys can’t marry each other!’ Leif exclaimed.  
  
Ivar nodded agreeably.  
  
‘No, I won’t need any woman for me, I will be by myself!’ he claimed again, stubbornly, ‘Let’s go outside,’ he waved at Leif and hurried out to escape before Ragnar started teaching him again.  
  
Helgi shook his head and chuckled.  
  
‘That boy will be surprised once he’s grown up’.  
  
Laufey, still sobbing, rubbed her eyes with her little fists and looked in the direction where Ivar and her brother had just run. She will never want to play with those nasty boys, never ever again.  



End file.
